


to wear white on the wedding day

by towards



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: F/M, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards/pseuds/towards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a rule 63!Shizuo and Izaya request from the Durarara!! kink meme. Unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to wear white on the wedding day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going through and uploading my old kink meme responses so I still have them somewhere. Nearly all of my fics dealt with Izaya being a bastard and them hating each other, so there's not really any fluff to be found. Just mindfuckery and hate.

The walls have eyes, the carpets have ears, and the bed has a voice to tell all what transpires behind closed doors. If there was one thing Orihara Izaya would change about his current situation, it would be the surface on which he was currently pounding the body beneath him into. It wouldn't be the too-strong hands clenching the headboard above her, nor the ample chest bouncing delightfully with each thrust, nor even the expression he would deign to dub as 'cute' across the monster woman's face. 

Perhaps the bed served a purpose. The infernal squeaking was annoying, but it took the romance out of what they were doing and kept them both in the moment, completely aware of what they were doing. Of what he was doing to her. Her expressive body betrayed her with each brutal thrust in, her hard panting mixing with his and making the whole thing much more erotic.

Shizuka wasn't moaning. There wasn't anything fake about this. It was honest and upfront for what it was.

... What it was exactly, or when it had become something different from what he intended, Izaya couldn't say. 

ooo

Heiwajima Shizuka was not the kind of girl you would take home to your parents or wear on your arm proudly. She had always been a rough sort of person, speaking masculinely and without tact, awkward to the point of social rejection. This was all topped off an explosive temper that left her an unreasonable beast, at best.

Along with all of this was the fact that for as long as anyone could remember in their school years, she had worn the boy's uniform and had cut her hair short. 

In their first meeting, all those years back in highschool, he had saw fit to check if she was even female. A strategically placed cut of a knife and her bound chest had been exposed. Another and her hands were coming up to cover her breasts, hesitating, then smashing into his face and sending him flying back into the rubble of the bench he'd been sitting on. 

They had hated each other from that first moment. 

It was easiest to say that Izaya had simply not thought of her beyond her beastlike personality. She wasn't female to him, not really, other than the large chest she hid away and the fact that some boys considered her 'erotic' on the handful of days she had come to school wearing the girl's uniform. 

The vicious rumors that had spread throughout the school that the two of them were dating were easily dismissed when Izaya had said that thinking of Shizuka like that was `like bestiality`. No one ever asked again after the comment had been repeated to Shizuka and the left wall of class 2-E's classroom had to be replaced.

Still, he loved seeing her fight.

School came and went. Shizuka went through over a dozen jobs, excelling at none and never holding them for more than a few months. Her younger brother rose to fame and, for a while, he thoughts nothing of her as his business took off... Their interactions in the streets of Ikebukuro weren't important enough to leave much of an impression. At best, he simply thought enough of her to feel wary when he left the safety of Shinjuku... but going into Ikekuburo warranted being more careful anyway.

How could he have known that on the day he framed her, she would be wearing such an outfit? She'd traded in a boy's uniform for a waitress uniform, a skirt cut shorter than he would have ever expected and a shirt and vest that covered all but emphasized what was important.

And the way she screamed his name, all the fury written across her face, the fact that it took seven cops to restrain her - something about that had sparked something inside him.

It was wrong for an animal to look so attractive. That short skirt, the stocking covered legs flashing in lazy steps or with purpose and intent to kill. Her hair had grown longer since he'd last seen her - even if it was still bleached brilliantly blonde - giving her a more feminine appearance. And, of course, Orihara Izaya may have been a god but he was a god in the form of a man! He couldn't help but notice the bountiful chest. For such an athletic body, she certainly was - ah, what was that term his sisters threw around - stacked?

He was certain that she must have been handing it out for a price if she was dressed like that, flaunting her assets. What a whore. He'd thought and turned his nose up in disgust at the idea of her sprawled out lewdly, left unclean by the dirty hands that must have greedily pawed at that body. There was no other way she would ever be able to pay for all of the debt her monstrous temper racked up. The beautiful beautiful woman wasn't human and was probably ridden with disease. She valued none of it, and so he didn't either.

Orihara Izaya did not know if this was true but he spread it around as if it were fact.

It wasn't until he was seated in Russia Sushi on a stormy Saturday evening that he found out any differently. In his usual private booth, shielded from all but able to see all, he watched the woman and her boss step into the restaurant. Shizuka grumbled and brushed herself off, and then once in the public booth, kicked both of her shoes off (heels, he noted one had snapped off)x and collapsed onto the cushion. Tom settled down across from her.

They ordered. Shizuka unwound, stretching out stiffly and sighing.

"So, about that conversation from before..." Tom said after a few moments, leaning back against the wall and making himself cozy. "You've really never...?" 

"No. Never." 

Izaya perked up slightly, peering from his booth.

"That's strange... I suppose, I just never considered..." The tan man touched his chin, looking at his bodyguard carefully. "It's a good stress relief, you know."

She squirmed... but she didn't look angry. Just uncomfortable. A hot blush had spread across that smooth skin. "Shut up."

"I mean it! It might be a good way to calm down..." A scratch to his cheek. "You could just be-"

"Tom-san!"

"Alright, alright... but why? It wouldn't be hard for you to."

"... It needs to be with someone special."

Wait a second. Izaya's eyes widened marginally, his attention swinging back. Were they talking about what he thought they were talking about?

"With someone special, huh...? But I can't remember the last time I saw you on a date."

"... I haven't."

"Ever?"

"The right person hasn't come along."

He could see the man's thought clearly across his face even before they spoke. "No one will stay if you chase them off anytime they flirt with you, Shizuka."

"Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me." He smiled. "No one would ever believe me if I said that the feared Heiwajima Shizuka was a vir-"

The man ducked just in time to avoid the decorative plate that smashed just above his head.

All he'd said was: "You're looking lovely today, Shizu-chan."

The reaction that he'd gotten was stronger than any he'd ever earned before. The woman had, quite literally, flipped a table. Tom had barely had time to duck before the heavy oak table had smashed above his head and the woman was kicking off of the wall and zeroing in on him with one fist aimed for his head. 

And so ended his dinner. Shizuka had chased him relentlessly back to Shinjuku, uprooting street signs and throwing vending machines like the barbarian she really was.

The next time, he'd been so bold as to compliment the way her hair looked.

The next time, he'd complimented her "perfect, heart shaped behind" and he'd limped home with a dislocated knee. 

It seemed as though he wasn't going to get any progress with that. But the blush that had dusted her skin had been almost... cute. It was ruined by the fact that her expression was trusted into an ugly snarl, of course, but it had at least served as an indication that flattery did reach her on some level. 

"Fucking flea pisses me off," he'd heard her grumble as she turned away, lighting up another cigarette and strutting back to Tom. The way she adjusted her skirt was certain unfeminine and unattractive, but he did catch a glimpse of her panties.

They were white.

How cute. 

Flattery would get him no where with her. Shizuka's self esteem was too terrible for her to be won over by pretty words. Whatever she thought flirting and love was didn't match up to how it was actually done. After careful analysis, the informant was certain that the only reason that Tanaka Tom remained a close friend was because she had simply inadvertently friendzoned him. 

She probably thought that no one would love someone like her. 

Well... That only meant that he would have to be creative.


End file.
